


I Will Squeeze the Life Right Out of You (or, Saying Goodbye)

by fits_in_frames



Series: Throw Your Arms Around Me [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-04
Updated: 2007-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd known Sam was applying to colleges, ever since he dug through Sam's backpack, looking for a package of bullets that'd gone missing, and instead found sealed letters of recommendation from Pastor Jim and Sam's tenth grade science teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Squeeze the Life Right Out of You (or, Saying Goodbye)

**Author's Note:**

> _i will squeeze the life right out of you_  
>  _i will make you laugh, i'll make you cry_  
>  {hunters and collectors (via eddie vedder) // throw your arms around me}  
> 

"So Dad really told you to get out?"

They were five miles from the motel they'd been staying at during the hunt they'd just finished. Sam had nearly walked into Dean, laden with beer and other foodstuffs from the shop down the street. They'd made it all the way to the Impala together, and Sam told Dean why he was walking out of town, alone. Now, sitting in the front seats together, Dean felt like something was pressing on his chest, something heavy and something destructive.

"Told me to get out and stay out."

He'd known Sam was applying to colleges, ever since he dug through Sam's backpack, looking for a package of bullets that'd gone missing, and instead found sealed letters of recommendation from Pastor Jim and Sam's tenth grade science teacher. When Sam walked in on him, he'd promised not to tell, and, as pissed as he was, Dean Winchester did not break promises to his little brother.

"He's right," Dean said, putting the key in the ignition. "You know, Sammy--"

"Don't call me Sammy," Sam said, coldly.

"You know, Sammy," Dean continued, biting back a crack in his voice, "the only reason I didn't tell him is because you didn't want me to. I should have told on your sorry ass months ago."

"Fine," Sam said, opening the car door. "Fine, if you want me gone, then I'm gone." And he stepped out on to the sidewalk again, opened the back door, grabbed his backpack, slammed both doors shut, and started walking away.

"Hey!" Dean called out the open window. "Hey, Sam!" When Sam didn't respond, he started the car and pulled out as fast as he could, driving at the same speed his brother was walking. "Sam!"

"I don't want to talk to you anymore than you want to talk to me, Dean," Sam said without turning his head.

"Sam, don't be ridiculous." He pulled into an alley, got out of the car, started jogging on the main road to catch up. "Sam!" he called, and finally, finally rested his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Sam said as he turned stiffly.

He caught a glimpse of Sam's eyes: they were steely and as filled with tears as Dean had ever seen them. And then he was overcome with a sudden urge to pull Sam into a hug. He wanted to feel Sam pressed up against him one last time, to memorize the smell of his hair, the muscles in his back, every curve and bump on his body. He wanted to tangle himself in Sam's body, in Sam's life; he wanted to squeeze him so hard that he had to beg for every breath. But more than anything, he wanted to never, ever let go. The pressing feeling in his chest was now accompanied by a snarly, light-headed sensation, and a dryness in the back of his throat. He tried to say, _I'm proud of you_ or _I'll miss you_ or even just _goodbye, Sam_ , but nothing came out but a pitiful choked-back sob when Sam turned away, throwing Dean's hand off. Dean watched his brother walk until he disappeared down a side street, and then headed back to the Impala.

He stood outside the car for a long time, just staring at it. He remembered holding Sammy for the first time, remembered the way Dad showed him to cradle the baby's head in his elbow, remembered the sobbing fit he subjected Dad to when the nurse took him away. He remembered all the nights when Sam, scared and shaking, slipped into the other bed when he thought his older brother was asleep, remembered the way their arms would find their ways around each other during the night, remembered the feeling of elation that washed over him when he woke up with a wild head of dark hair in his face. He remembered all the hunts they'd been on in the last year, remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he couldn't find Sam, remembered the wave of relief when he saw that Sammy was still breathing and still in one piece. It was twilight by the time his body finally decided to move, and that was to kick the driver's side door as hard as he could. There was a dent, a big one, but he didn't really care because he suddenly felt sick and barely made it to the trash can on the opposite side of the alley in time. Leaning against the car, he wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, spit the last bit of acid on to the ground. He yanked at the door handle, threw himself into the car, and sat for a moment before yelling _goddammit!_ to no one in particular and starting the engine.


End file.
